Fields of Red and Autumn Brown
by holadios
Summary: Maybe she wasn’t conscious at all...She might have been knocked unconscious by her fall...She might have hit her head...She might have been unable to breathe...She might have already have died.
1. Falling Slowly

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to House, M.D.

**A/N:** Here is my newest story, loosely inspired by a movie (kudos to anyone that can guess which - you may have to wait a few chapters though) and a song (major kudos to anyone that can get this one!). I hope you enjoy. Please read and review; I love knowing what you think!

**A/N:** A few people to thank...First, Abby. She may not even read this, but she helped me so much in fleshing out the idea. Second, Melissa, my lovely beta reader. Thanks for all of your help and nit-pickiness that made this story what it is. Your eye for detail never ceases to amaze me.

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It was loud. People pushed past her, screaming, yelling, calling out to family members as they pounded down the twelve flights of stairs. The roar of the flames consuming the vulnerable wood rang in her ears. Her own breath, heavy inhales and exhales, seemed ten times louder than normal and she could almost hear her frantic heart pounding in her chest over the chaos that was everything else. She stood up slowly from her spot on the stairwell landing, not wanting to crash into the stampede of people rushing past her to get out. She leaned against the banister, flattening herself against it, not wanting to be trampled. Sweat trickled down her face, soaking into her long ponytail, as she brushed back stray hairs from her face.

The vibration on her hip caused her to look down. Her pager was going off. She quickly unclasped it from her belt and pressed a button to make the vibration stop. Looking up, she realized it was her chance to get out; the stairs were relatively clear. She raced down the steps, feeling the heat soaking into her skin as she ran. She could feel the pager vibrating in her hands again as she passed the landing between the seventh and sixth floors. She willed it to stop, because she couldn't call just yet.

She had just passed the landing between the fifth and fourth floors when it happened. The roar was louder, the flames were hotter, and suddenly there was nothing but a loud explosion in her ears. She fought for the banister, but there no longer was a banister next to her. She was falling, suddenly, losing the ground beneath her. She thought she might have cried out, but she couldn't be sure because she couldn't hear herself over the noise. She might have screamed, but if she had, no one had heard her. Or if they had heard her, not one had listened.

But there might have been shrieks of fear from people around her when they realized exactly what was happening. There might have been children crying and fathers yelling and old women screaming and praying to God that they would make it out alive. Their voices tuned in and out like an old radio, mixing with the horrible sound of the flames consuming the old wood of the staircase.

There might have been a cat staring at her with unblinking green eyes from the arms of one of the teenage girls. There might have been a golden retriever puppy squirming in the arms of a young man wearing a sweatshirt. There might have been families ignoring her as they made mad dashes for the exit, trampling through over the rubble on their way out. There might have been no one to notice her at all.

But there might have been one man crying out to her, an older man with an unshaven face and startlingly blue eyes, who did care what happened to her. He might have been reaching out to her, trying to grasp her hand as she fell further and further away from him. She might have called his name, trying desperately to hold onto anything and everything she could, but she might have found there was nothing to hold on to. She might have screamed his name, horror filling her voice, as she realized how dire her situation was. But she was completely alone. She might have tried to reach him one last time, her wide eyes searching his concerned blue ones, but she soon shut them to avoid the ash and burning dust cascading down on her. She might have fallen completely into darkness.

He might have yelled her name, might even have considered going after her himself. He might have been told by people that would know better than he that it was impossible, that nothing could be done, but he might not have listened. He might have slapped them, might have punched them, might have fought tooth and nail to get to her.

He might have loved her.

She might have stopped him. Maybe she shouldn't have stopped him. Maybe she should have. Maybe she should have agreed them that the situation was hopeless. Maybe she couldn't see what had happened to her. She might have been blinded by the falling wood that burned her flesh. Maybe she couldn't think straight. She might have crashed hard onto the solid ground and broken her hip. She might have been crushed by falling furniture. She might have been trapped in a pit of hungry flames. Maybe she wasn't conscious at all. She might have been knocked unconscious by her fall. She might have hit her head. She might have been unable to breathe.

She might have already have died.


	2. Into the Fire

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews from last time! Sorry for the delay in getting this posted; I've been out of town. A million thanks to my beta Melissa, the only person who will ever know how bad the first draft of this chapter was. (No, I'm not kidding.) Some people have gotten the movie right, but no one's guessed the song yet! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter and please leave me a review and tell me what you thought.

* * *

It was a noise she had heard many times before, but she had never expected to hear it here. She remembered it from drills in elementary school, a young child cupping her hands over her ears to block out the shrill sound. She hadn't heard it in years; her apartment complex didn't have fire drills. In fact, if it hadn't been for the heat she felt when she pressed her hand to the door, she wouldn't have believed it to be true.

The door was warm, but not hot enough for the fire to be right outside her door. Adrenaline rushed through her, but any fear was muted because she knew she had enough time to get out. She quickly looked down at her clothes – she had not changed since coming home from the hospital, but they were comfortable enough to last. Her blue-green eyes swept the room and fell on the table where she had dropped off her phone and pager. She crossed the room in four quick strides and snatched them up, clasping the pager to her belt and pocketing the cell phone.

She checked the door again; it was not any warmer than before. She cautiously unlocked it and pulled it open. The fire alarm was still sounding its shrill cry, and she could hear frantic calls of her neighbors as they rounded up children and pets and scattered from their rooms. Her apartment on the twelfth floor was one of the last on the hall, far away from the stairs. The hallway was clear; she supposed that the fire must be at least a few floors down. Not wanting to waste any time, she ran down the hall, leaving her apartment door unlocked behind her.

She had just rounded the corner of the landing between the eleventh and tenth floors when she heard a loud thump followed by a shrill scream and strangled sobbing. Thousand-year-old instincts were telling her to keep going, urging her to move, but she found herself rooted to the spot, horror flooding through her. She knew she had to get out, but her sense of compassion was overwhelming her. Indecision froze her on the stairwell, her right hand clutching and banister as she turned around, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of what had happened. Duty seemed to be calling her; she was a doctor, she had to help. She had to do something if anything could be done…

She had turned around and begun charging up the stairs before reason caught up with her again. _What the hell are you doing?_ chastised a voice that sounded very much like House's. _Just get the hell out of there; the big men with hoses can take care of whatever happened…_

She paused again, trying to decide what to do. She knew the worst thing to do was just to stand there, stand there and do nothing, but her internal battle had prevented her from doing anything. It was becoming hotter in the stairwell; sweat was beginning to break on her forehead. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself – and nearly choked on it when she felt a hand on her sleeve.

"Dr. Cameron, oh, Dr. Cameron, thank god!" A woman was now tugging on her sleeve, urging her to go back upstairs, pulling her before Cameron had a chance to react. "Please, come quickly! Come quickly; my son needs help. My poor Nicky needs help!"

"Mrs. Bentley," Cameron said breathlessly, trying to release her sleeve from the woman's tight grasp. "Mrs. Bentley, I – we have to get out of here. Please – just take your son and I can look at him outside. We have to get out now." Desperation filled her voice as the air became thicker with smoke. There was enough oxygen to breathe for now, but Cameron knew it was not going to last long.

"No, no!" insisted Mrs. Bentley as she continued to drag Cameron up the stairs. "I can't move him. Isn't that what they always say on T.V.? That you shouldn't move a person when you suspect a spinal injury or something like that?"

"A spinal injury?" Cameron repeated lamely. "Oh…" They had arrived and Cameron immediately saw what she had heard earlier. Eight-year-old Nick Bentley lay motionless at the bottom of the staircase, blood trickling from an injury to his head.

Mrs. Bentley was rambling again. "What do you think the blood is from? Cracked skull? Concussion? Broken something or other?"

"Probably a concussion," Cameron murmured vaguely as she checked Nick's pulse. It was strong. He was going to be fine – if they ever managed to get out of the building.

"Mrs. Bentley, we have to get out now, okay? There's not enough oxygen in here for us to last much longer. Can you – um – Can you carry your son down the stairs?"

"But what about his neck! You have to stabilize his neck! I see it all the time on T.V.," Mrs. Bentley insisted eagerly. "They bring out those back-board thingys and then they strap the patient to them and lift them out."

"Mrs. Bentley, we don't have time for that!" Cameron burst out in frustration. "We don't have time to wait for an ambulance. They probably can't get to us here anyway; by the time they arrive, these stairs are going to be covered in flames. We need to get out _now_!" She tried to take a deep breath, to calm herself down, but was met only by more smoky air. Coughing, she added, "If you hold one hand under his neck, his neck will be fine as you carry him down the stairs."

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Bentley asked doubtfully.

Cameron nodded. "I'm sure." Mrs. Bentley finally relented and carefully picked up her son as Cameron had instructed. "Good," Cameron told her. "Now go!"

She watched as the mother tore off down the stairs with her son in her arms. A few people rushed past her down the stairs as she stood up from her spot on the ground. She was just checking to see if the coast was clear when her pager began vibrating on her hip. She reached down and grabbed it quickly, hitting a button to turn it off without looking at it. She didn't have time for whoever it was now.

The stairs were empty and she began to sprint down them. There wasn't enough oxygen; her head was spinning. She felt her pager begin to vibrate again but she couldn't figure out how to turn it off. The lack of oxygen was making her dizzy. _I told you to get the hell out of there!_ House's voice shouted in her head.

"I know!" she burst out, breathing heavily and sweating as she rounded out the sixth floor. "Just get me out of here, please get me out of here!" Panic began to fill her as she was met by thick grey smoke. It suddenly seemed to be about twenty degrees hotter. She suspected she was very near the source of the fire now. She froze, trying to find the best way out, the clearest way, the way that would allow her to make it out of here alive…

She stood still a second too long. There was a loud crack and then the sound of an explosion filled her ears. Her eyes widened in fear and she flailed her arms wildly, trying to find the banister or anything to hold onto, but it was too late. The pager flew out of her hand as the staircase she was on cracked and she was suddenly plunging down into the fiery depths below.

She felt the pain, and then there was nothing.


	3. Morningside Heights

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews, everyone! They totally made my day. Major thanks to my lovely beta Melissa, who beta'd this despite being very busy with other committments. You can all blame her for it being a day later than I told some of you. No, don't do that actually, because then she won't beta chapter four for me and you'll never see what happens after this! Enjoy the next chapter and please review and tell me what you think. Reviews motivate me to write faster; empirically proven, you know!

* * *

"House, I need to borrow your team."

The magazine - Cuddy couldn't quite make out what it was from the doorframe she was standing in, but she strongly suspected it was porn - came down slowly and House looked up at her in surprise. "You need my what?"

"Your team," Cuddy repeated. "I need to borrow your doctors for a bit."

"They're busy," House said, picking up his porn magazine again.

Cuddy stepped fully into his office and tapped the glass that separated House's office from the team work room. "They don't look busy to me."

House glanced over to the other room. Taub and Kutner were playing Operation while Foreman looked on over his game of Solitaire. Thirteen was reading _The New York Times_ and completing the crossword. House tutted.

"They think better that way." He was about to put up the magazine again when Cuddy pushed it down and away from his face.

"Look," she said loudly, quickly reaching the end of her patience. "I have a room full of people waiting downstairs and thirty more victims of an apartment fire rolling in. I need your doctors and I need them now!"

House looked shocked. "An apartment fire? Isn't there an entire department at this hospital for treating people in situations like these? What's it called again? The EU? ET? ES? ER? The ER - oh, right! The ER. Go use those doctors. Call back the ones that went nighty-night if you need more people; why do you need my team?"

"I need your team because one of the members of your _old_ team is refusing to answer her pager."

House's ears instantly perked up. Cameron wasn't answering her pager? If it had been anyone else, he would have replied, 'So what?' but this was Cameron. She would never miss an opportunity to jump in and assist. Hell, she'd probably rush into the burning building herself if she could -

He froze and then looked up at Cuddy seriously. "What apartment complex?"

"Why does it matter?" Cuddy asked in exasperation. "That's completely irrelevant -"

"It matters," he growled. "What apartment is burning down?"

"I don't know, House," Cuddy replied testily. She sighed, knowing he would not relent until he knew the answer to his question. "I think it started with an 'M' - Morningside something-or-other - "

He stood suddenly, walked to the other room and caught his doctors' attention. "You're all needed in the ER. We have busloads of apartment fire victims rolling in. Page me if there's anything interesting." He looked directly at Foreman as he said that last bit, but Foreman only frowned in response. "Go!" he shouted when he realized no one was moving and everyone was simply staring at him. He watched as Thirteen pushed her chair back from the table and walked out the door. Taub and Kutner soon followed, abandoning their half-finished game of Operation. Foreman was the last to leave, throwing House one last confused look before disappearing down the hall. House limped over to his filing desk cabinet and began yanking open drawers.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked. When he didn't reply, she walked over to him and peered into the desk cabinet's depths. "House, what's going on?"

He didn't speak but instead continued shuffling through folders. He finally found what he was looking for and opened it eagerly. He took a deep breath and then threw the file down on the table.

It was a personnel file. Cuddy swallowed nervously and looked down at the top page. What caught her eye in the first line made her uneasy.

**NAME: Cameron, Allison**.

She had a sinking feeling that she knew where this was going. Her eyes moved to the third line of text: **PLACE OF RESIDENCE**. Cameron's address was for an apartment complex some fifteen miles from the hospital. The P.O. Box was for one Morningside Heights.

Cuddy closed her eyes and opened them again slowly after exhaling. House was already halfway down the hall. She raced after him, catching up to him just after he had pressed the button for the elevator.

"I can't believe I didn't think of that," Cuddy muttered, rubbing her forehead as the elevator descended. When House didn't respond, she looked up. He was staring at the top of the elevator door, watching as the pale orange light marked their progress towards the first floor. His face was set; she could clearly see that he was angry. The soft _ding!_ of the elevator announced their presence in the ER. The elevator doors rolled open and they were met by complete chaos.

Doctors rushed from trauma to trauma, barking orders as they met the stretchers rolling in. House immediately took off for the curtained rooms while Cuddy went in the direction of trauma rooms. He yanked back the first curtain: an old man with an oxygen mask on his face stared back at him. House tore from room to room, his anger building with each successive failure.

"Where is she?" he shouted to one of the blond-haired nurses in a room with a red-headed boy. "Where is Dr. Cameron?"

She just shook her head at him. "I haven't seen her," she replied. "I think she left around six," she added unhelpfully.

House growled and yanked open the next curtain. "House!" someone called. It was Cuddy. He turned around eagerly, hoping she had some news. "She's not in any of the trauma rooms."

He punched the nearest wall, earning a disapproving frown from one of the nurses. "Goddamn it!" he yelled in frustration. Cuddy was out of trauma rooms and he was almost out of curtains. "Are you sure no one's seen her? They do know what she looks like, right?"

"Oh, well, a few people did see her," Cuddy said. "And they know what she looks like. Some remember her from the apartment building -"

"That doesn't help!" House spat. "Of course they remember her; they live with her. Ask them what the hell happened to her _today_. Go back and find out if anyone saw her leave the building!"

As Cuddy turned to leave, he scanned the ER quickly to see if he had missed anything obvious. He was about to go to the next curtain when Thirteen came running up to him. He took one look at her blood-covered scrubs and asked, "You're not a vampire, are you?"

"There's this woman in trauma room two -" she began, ignoring him.

"-whose blood was oh-so-tasty?"

"-who said Dr. Cameron helped her son on the stairs," Thirteen finished loudly. House looked at her and she continued. "She's frantic because she hasn't seen her since."

House stared at her for a moment longer, thinking hard. Then he said, "Get back in that trauma room and find out everything you know from her. I want to know exactly which staircase they were on and when. Go!"

As Thirteen ran off, House pulled out his cell phone. He had no idea if this would work, but he knew he should at least try. He punched in the number and then held the phone to his ear. He listened to it ring, waiting with bated breath, hoping, just hoping, that maybe –

"Hello?"


	4. Do No Harm

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. But if I did, that kiss in Half-Wit would have gone on for about a minute longer. And she would have come back for the sperm sample. Without the needle.

**A/N:** Much thanks to all the reviewers from last time; those reviews totally made my day! Since you've all been so wonderful, here's the third update in less than 72 hours. WHOA, I know. If you keep reviewing, perhaps we can make it four in less than 96! Special thanks to the lovely beta Melissa, without whom this story would not continue. Enjoy the next chapter everyone and leave me a review telling me what you thought!

* * *

As soon as she opened her eyes, she wished she hadn't. The pain hit her like an avalanche, strong and relentless. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, but her brain had already recognized the telltale signs of a body in distress. She gasped several times, her brain working in overdrive as she tried to remember what had happened.

Awareness of her surroundings came to her in pieces, each building upon the first as she took in more and more. She was lying down – she knew that because she was flat upon her back. Her leg was broken – she knew that because of the intense pain she felt every time she tried to move. And she was pinned under something – she knew that because every time she tried to move, she realized she had nowhere to go. Although her arms were free, the wood on top of her was either too heavy for her to move, or was covering her at such an odd angle that movement would be impossible.

Wherever she was, it was hot as hell. She could feel sweat in her hair and soaking through her shirt. Her breath came in pants, though more from nerves than anything else. She turned her head slightly, trying to get an idea of where she was, but there didn't seem to be anything except for charred wood – the rubble that surrounded her.

The sound of a phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. She froze, trying to gauge where the foreign noise was coming from. After a few moments, she realized it was coming from her – from her pocket. She screwed up her eyes in the effort to extend her arm down toward her pants pocket. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips, but a voice inside of her urged her to keep going.

_Come on. Pick up the damn phone already!_

She closed her fingers around the cool plastic and slowly extracted it from her pocket. She willed the phone to keep ringing just a little bit longer as she put it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Cameron," a gruff voice answered her, "where the hell are you?"

"House?" She didn't know who she expected to be calling her, but she hadn't expected her former boss. She tried to adjust herself into a more comfortable position on the ground as she waited for his response.

"Of course it's me; who else would call to ask why the hell you aren't at the hospital yet?"

"The hospital?" she repeated lamely. Nothing seemed to be making sense. She had left the hospital already, around six, when her shift had ended. Was it morning already? It looked sort of dark where she was…had that much time passed? "What happened?" she asked urgently.

"You – you don't know?" His tone was surprised, which she found a bit worrisome. House was rarely surprised by anything. "There was a fire at an apartment complex."

She froze. "A – a fire?" she stuttered. She looked around her surroundings: blackened wood, shadows of orange and black dancing on the walls. She felt her mouth go dry. "Here?" she whispered.

"Morningside Heights," he replied.

She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. She had been in a fire – she _was_ in a fire. Her memory had gone into overdrive. _The fire alarm – her pager – a boy – his mother – an explosion…_

"Oh my god, what happened to Nick? Have you seen him? Is he all right?"

She heard him click his tongue. "I don't know," he said. "I'm sure he's here though. Cuddy found his mother, I think. Real piece of work, that one."

She let out a weak chuckle, remembering the woman's frustrating antics. The laugh sent a sharp pain through her chest and she gasped. She froze, urging herself to stay perfectly still, trying to get rid of the pain. As she became more aware of her situation, she was also becoming more aware of the heavy weight of the rubble on top of her and the pain in her broken leg. She squirmed in discomfort, tears welling in her eyes as she realized the pain wasn't going away.

He must have sensed her discomfort on the other end of the line. "Cameron, listen to me. Listen to me, damn it!" She stopped squirming, panting as she tried to block the pain from her mind. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"What happened?"

"I – I think I broke my leg," she told him. She winced. "And some ribs."

He scoffed in disapproval. "What did you do, fall? Try to play the hero? Why the hell didn't you just get out of there?" he yelled in frustration.

"Don't yell at me!" she snapped. "I'm in pain, damn it!" Tears welled in her eyes as the pain hit her again full force. "I'm sorry, okay?" she told him. "What the hell did you want me to do, House? Leave him on the stairs to die? What happened to 'Do no harm'?"

"Calm down," he said sharply, though she heard the placating undertones in his voice. He was no longer yelling; he was no longer angry at her. Well, maybe that wasn't true, but he was at least masking his anger. "Calm down, Cameron. Inhale, exhale, just like in all those yoga videos I'm sure you do." She grimaced and closed her eyes, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, allowing his gruff voice calm her. "Never mind how you got there right now. I've got a more important question: can you get out?"

"No," she answered softly. She was starting to think this might be hopeless.

"Okay," he said, and she could tell he was fighting to keep his voice calm. "How's your oxygen supply?"

"I – I'm not sure," she replied. "There seems to be enough but I'm not sure how long that's going to last…"

"Can you hear any firefighters?"

She strained her ears, but she couldn't hear anything. "No," she told him. "No, I don't think anyone even knows to look down here. I don't know why anyone would…"

He was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he said, "I'll be right there."

"What?" His last comment had caught her totally off guard. What exactly was he going to do here? He couldn't exactly run into the building, not with his leg anyway. She wasn't even sure the firefighters would be able to do that – if they even knew where to look.

"I'm coming," he told her. "Don't try to pull yourself out to save any puppies, okay? Just hang on until I get there."

There was a click, and then the line went dead.


	5. A Million to One

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** I'm sorry it took me longer to update than expected. It's all Melissa's fault; she had school. Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers from last time. I received some of the nicest reviews ever last time; they really made me happy. This is my favorite chapter, and it's also my longest, so I hope you all enjoy it. Miss Meliss, thanks for beta reading. Please review and let me know your thoughts, everyone!

* * *

People passed him though nothing registered in his brain. He remained staring straight ahead, his closed cell phone in his left hand, his right hand gripped tightly on his cane. His mind was reeling with the new information. So she had been in the apartment. She had stopped. She had fallen. She had been injured.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He had always known she would allow her naïve view everyone could be saved to cloud her judgment. He had just never pictured himself being the one to get her out of the mess.

He began walking towards the ambulance bay, fully intent on stealing one of the ambulances to drive to the scene. With the chaos surrounding the E.R., no one was going to stop him, and he'd be allowed to go to the scene without question and with plenty of speed and sirens to keep the slow idiots off the road away from him. As he passed trauma room two, he caught sight of Cuddy talking to a middle-aged woman with overly enthusiastic hand gestures. He plowed forward, wanting to avoid all questions from Cuddy, but something the woman said made him stop.

"Yes – Dr. Cameron. She works here, right? Have you seen her? Is she okay?"

Cuddy began to shake her head and mutter something about not knowing where Cameron was when the woman caught sight of him. She hurried forward. "Hi – Dr. House, right? You're the guy with the cane -"

He whirled around. "Hi – Nicky's mommy, right? You're the idiot who can't carry her son down the stairs without the help of a woman the size of a teenager." He saw her jaw drop, but before she could say another word, he was already walking toward the ambulances.

"House!"

He groaned inwardly but kept walking. Anything that Cuddy had to say to him now was bound to be something he didn't want to hear. He heard her heels clicking on the floor as she came up behind him.

"What the hell was that about?"

"Nothing. Just a slight disagreement, all business related."

"House…" Her voice trailed off when she realized where they were. "What are you – where are you going?"

"It's eight. I'm late for a meeting with one of Stockholm's finest. She's only available until nine, and, well, I wanted my full money's worth."

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "You're meeting with a hooker? Now?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"It's Wednesday. That's hooker night."

"It's Tuesday!" she yelled after him, but he just covered his ears and kept walking. The chance of her following him out the ambulance bay was slim, as there were too many patients in the E.R. who needed her attention. Sure enough, as he glanced back through the glass doors, he saw her returning back to the trauma rooms or perhaps to the stupid mother probably still standing with her jaw on the floor. He pushed the idea from his mind as he located an abandoned ambulance and then climbed into the front seat. Once buckled in, he carefully exited the ambulance bay before zooming off again at top speed, sirens wailing.

He arrived in seven minutes, twenty-two seconds, allowing himself a moment to collect his thoughts before getting out. What he saw in front of him took him aback. Angry orange flames absolutely devastated the apartment complex. Dark smoke billowed out from open windows. Mothers were screaming, children were crying, teenagers were calling out to lost friends. Firefighters stood around the building with big hoses trying to douse the flames, but they were doing little good so far. It was clear the building at least would not survive.

House limped towards the nearest fireman, an older man giving shouting orders to the other firefighters dousing the flames. He tapped him on the shoulder.

"You get everyone out of there?"

"Who the hell are you?" the fireman asked crossly.

House pushed his cane onto the man's heavy boot. "I'm Dr. Gregory House from Princeton-Plainsboro."

The fireman frowned. "Aren't you that whack job diagnostician?"

"_World famous_ whack job diagnostician," House corrected him proudly. "And you still haven't answered my question."

"We're doing the best we can."

"The best you can?" House repeated incredulously. "So, what, only the people you can find in two seconds get saved? God, what kind of justice is that?"

"Look, pal, if you have a better idea I'd love to hear about it. I've got a burning building to take care of." The fireman turned to leave. House stuck out his cane, which the fireman, intent on leaving, missed. He hit the long piece of wood and stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet.

"Now that I've got your attention," House said smoothly. "There's a woman trapped in there, somewhere, injured. She's real pretty, great piece of ass. I'm sure she'd do you if you can save her in time."

The fireman scoffed. "I'm married."

"Too bad," House responded airily.

"Where is she?"

"Don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" the fireman burst out angrily. "Is she in the building?"

"Yes."

"But you don't know where?"

"Nope."

The fireman almost laughed. "How do you expect me to find her then?"

House slowly extracted his cell phone from his jacket pocket. "I was thinking…this."

"What, you're going to call her?"

House nodded. "Yep. Want to stand here and listen?"

The fireman shook his head. "Like I said, burning building to take care of. But if you do reach her, tell my boys over there and we'll see what we can do about getting her out, okay?"

House saluted. "Aye, aye, captain!" The fireman turned to leave and House dialed the number. After a few seconds, the line was picked up.

"House?"

"The one and only," he replied. "Save any puppies yet?"

"No," she answered, her voice slightly strained. He caught the pain laced in her voice.

"I'm here now," he told her, his voice softening slightly. "I'm talking to the firemen. We're going to try and get you out, okay?" There was no response on the other end of the line. "Cameron?"

"Yeah – yeah, okay," she replied breathlessly.

"Okay," he said. "Can you tell me where you are?" Silence. "Cameron?" More silence. "Cameron, can you tell me where you are?" he asked loudly.

"I – I don't know." He caught the fear that was beginning to seep into her voice. He could just imagine her, trapped somewhere, injured and scared, unable to move, maybe unable to see anything around her. Her eyes would be wide and frightened, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to make sense of what was happening to her. This was not the type of situation she could deal well with. "I don't know! I don't know, I don't know!"

"Cameron," he said firmly. "Don't panic. Stop panicking; that's only going to make it worse. Inhale and exhale, remember? Inhale and exhale." He stopped and listened closely, trying to catch an idea of what was happening on the other end of the line. After about ten seconds, he tried again. "Can you see anything around you? A door or a window, perhaps?"

"Um – um, yes, yes, I think – I think so," she answered, and he could tell she was straining herself to look around the room. "Yes, there's this, um, this window."

"Good, that's good," he told her. "Can you see any pretty lights? Any flashing blue and red?"

There was a pause, and then – "Yes, there are some lights," she murmured.

"Hey – hey!" he said loudly. "You have to stay with me, all right? You can't die on me now; you're much better lobby art than Thirteen. How many floors does the apartment have? Is there a basement?"

"No, I'm not in a basement," she told him. "Um…I think the staircase fell…or the floor I was standing on…or something. That's how I got here. I think I fell; something must have happened to make me fall…What could that have been, House?"

"Cameron," he said sharply, trying to bring her back. He could tell the pain or lack of oxygen (or both) was beginning to make her delirious. "Cameron, focus. Can you see anything else? A door or maybe a hallway or anything?"

"There're plenty of hallways on the first floor…" she mumbled. "Lots of ways in…maybe you can even use the doors…"

"Hey!" he shouted into the phone, ignoring the stares of the passers-by around him. "Stay with me, Cameron! You have to tell me where to find you, or I'm just going to leave you there to die."

"I don't want to die, House…" she whispered.

Her words tore at him. He knew that time was running out; she was fading faster with each passing second. Stealing a quick glance at the people around him, he said softly into the phone, "I know you don't. I'm going to tell the firefighters where to look for you now, okay? You just have to hang on until they get there. Can you do that?"

"You're going soft on me," she murmured. "You're going soft on me, House."

"Right," he said quietly. "Right. Just hang on, Cameron. Count backwards from a million or something. Just don't die."


	6. Promise Me Everything

**Disclaimer:** I still own nothing.

**A/N:** Thank you so, so much to all the awesome reviewers from last chapter. You guys all make me so happy! This is the second to last chapter; that's right, this story is almost over. But no worries because I've already got my next story in the works! Eternal thanks to my tear-duct-less beta Melissa, who made this chapter so much better, even though she has no heart. I hope you all enjoy this penultimate chapter and please review!

* * *

He swallowed hard and closed the cell phone with a snap. His mind was clearer now that he knew exactly what he had to do: find a firefighter, tell him where to look. Tell him she was on the first floor near a window. Tell him she was running out of time. She was almost out of time. Prolonged oxygen deprivation and pain were really taking their toll on her. It wouldn't be long now. He could only hope the firefighters could find her and get her out in time. Even then, he knew her chances were slim.

"Hey, you!" he shouted to the nearest firefighter, a young man with sandy brown hair. "You know how to save someone from a burning building?"

The man frowned, eyeing House suspiciously. "Are you supposed to be here?"

"Of course I am," House snapped. "Big guy over there told me to talk to you. There's a woman trapped inside on the first floor. Can you get her out?"

The man furrowed his brow. "Yeah, probably." He called out to some of the firefighters standing near him and they came running over. "We've got a female victim trapped on the first floor," he told them. "Let's get our equipment and get over there now!" The firefighters took off running, the sandy-haired leader after them. House hung back and watched them leave.

"Go, go, go!" The shouts of the firefighters filled the air as they prepared to enter the building.

He limped towards the demolished building, but stopped far enough away to still be able to lurk behind an oak tree. He wanted to see without being seen, to make sure they were doing it properly, but to be hidden enough not avoid unwanted people. Stealing another quick glance around him to make sure there were no annoying yellow-suited men coming his way, he extracted his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number.

_Ring._ Nothing.

_Ring._ Still nothing. He began drumming his fingers on his cane impatiently.

_Ring._ Nothing still. The drumming increased in speed.

_Ring. _Noth – "Hello?"

"If you wanted to try and give me a heart attack, you could have taken off your clothes in my office years ago," he quipped. There was no response. "Cameron?"

"I'm…still here."

He slowly let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "How are you doing?" he asked seriously.

"Okay…been better…" she mumbled.

"The firefighters are coming," he told her loudly, trying to get her to focus. "I just sent them into the building and told them where you are."

"I don't…see any firefighters."

He looked out from behind the tree. The firefighters were nowhere to be seen. "Don't worry," he said. "They just entered the building."

"Are you – can you wait with me?"

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him. "Just – just keep talking."

She didn't really talk, as he had told her to. She sort of mumbled a few things every now and then, trivial things, to which he mumbled trivial responses. Minutes passed in this way, with him staring off into the dark sky and her staring off into…he didn't know what.

"There's no one here," she whispered finally.

House frowned. The firefighters were still nowhere to be found. Or no – wait. Someone was coming back, one of the firemen he had spoken to earlier…and another one was following him.

But they didn't have anyone with them.

House limped forward, cell phone still open in hand, but his jaw was set. How could they not find her? How stupid were these people? She had been pretty clear about her location and he had told them everything he knew. Was she trapped? Could they really not get to her?

"Where is she?" he demanded of the firefighter approaching him.

"She's not on that floor, sir," the firefighter responded. "There's no one on that floor. We walked all around the main area – from the outside, that's the only place that seems to have windows. There's a lot of fire in one of the hallways. That's the only place we didn't look and that's because we can't look there. Too dangerous."

House's eyes widened in anger. "But she could be there, you moron! Get your ass back in there and get her out."

"She can't be there," said another firefighter who was now approaching. "She said she could see flashing lights through a window. There are no windows in that hallway."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me she's wrong?"

The firefighter nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying." He pointed to the phone. "Is she still on the line? Ask her again about her location."

House turned away from the firefighters and put the phone to his ear again.

"House, I don't see anyone! There's no one here, House! Why is there no one here?"

"Relax, Cameron," he said softly, moving slightly further away from the group of firefighters, cupping his hand around the mouthpiece all the same so that they couldn't tell what he was saying. "Tell me again what happened."

"I fell, I think. I told you that already."

"Why did you fall?"

There was silence for a long time on the other end. Then, finally, she said, "I think there was an explosion of some sort…Yes, that seems right. There was this loud noise before I fell. It must have been an explosion."

He swallowed. "So there was an explosion, and that must have broken the staircase, causing you to fall. Does the apartment have a basement?"

"I'm not in a basement, House."

"That's not the question," he pressed her. "I asked if the apartment had a basement, not if you were in one." There was another long pause. "Cameron?"

"I do my laundry in the basement," she mumbled. "Early in the morning, sometimes late at night. Whenever I can, really. You know what's funny, House? I can almost see those laundry machines from here…"

And finally, finally, realization dawned on him. She had never been on the first floor. She had been wrong about the window and about the lights.

She had been dying in the basement the entire time.

"That is funny," he muttered. "Cameron, listen. I'm going to tell the firefighters to come and get you now, okay? You will see them this time."

"Do you promise?" she asked quietly.

"I…promise," he finished softly. "They're coming." He paused, and then said softer still, "You have to promise me something, too."

"Okay," she whispered slowly.

He limped even further away from the firefighters and dropped his voice. "Promise me you won't die."

"Excuse me, sir!"

He swatted his hand behind his back, trying to tell the firefighter to back off, but the firefighter wouldn't have it.

"Sir, we need to know where to look."

House covered the mouthpiece. "Just hold on a minute!" he said angrily.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but time is running out."

"Fine," House snapped. He put the phone back to his ear, cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, "I have to go now. Stupid moron firefighters; can't even tell their head from their ass. Just hang in there, Cameron. Don't die on me now. I'll be right back. I promise."

He snapped the phone shut. "Happy?"

The firefighter nodded. "Where is she?"

"Basement, near the laundry machines."

The firefighter turned and ran back to his team, shouting orders. House waited until the group of firefighters had left before opening the phone again.

_Ring._ Nothing.

_Ring._ Still nothing. (He began drumming his fingers on his cane impatiently.)

_Ring._ Nothing still. (The drumming increased in speed.)

_Ring. _Noth – Nothing.


	7. Occam's Razor

**Disclaimer:** I still own nothing.

**A/N:** To everyone that reviewed the last chapter - thank you so much. Your kind words and enthusiasm really inspired me to get this last chapter up quickly. To Melizzle (the tear-duct-less beta that has found her soul) - thanks for your work on this chapter. This is the last chapter, everyone. I hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

Maybe there had been some kind of mistake. Maybe he had dialed the wrong number by accident. Maybe he had accidentally dialed Cuddy's number instead of hers – instead of Cameron's. He might have pressed the wrong button, pressed the down arrow key one time too many.

Maybe.

Or maybe he had dialed the right number and she just hadn't answered. She might have dropped her phone, causing it to close. She might have hit the red button instead of the green button, thus ending the call before it could begin. She might have been trying to call him back, and he was standing there, dumbfounded, the phone in his closed fist, dread flooding him, completely oblivious to her call. He might have checked the phone just to be sure. He might have found there was nothing.

Perhaps.

Maybe she had gone to sleep. She must have been so exhausted, after all. As much as he didn't want her to sleep, as much as he knew it was a bad idea, he also knew that the firefighters were coming. He knew that she would be safe soon. He knew that any minute, a firefighter was going to walk out of that building, her safely in his arms. She might have been distracted by the appearance of the firefighters. She might have been too shocked to answer the phone, too excited by the arrival of her rescuers to deal with such trivial issues as a phone call from a man she would doubtless see in a few hours. She might not have needed to answer at all, because they would talk in person soon enough.

He might have found that thought comforting, choosing to relish in it for a moment. He might have chosen to take a moment to savor the fact that she was going to be all right, that any minute a firefighter was going to appear from the fiery pits of the demolished apartment complex and carry her out to him. She might be injured, she might be in incredible pain – hell, she might even be unconscious, but she would be there. She would be out of the flames, finally. She would be free.

Possibly.

Or maybe she would be just fine. Maybe she wasn't as badly injured as she thought she was. Maybe her brain had been playing terrible tricks on her the entire time they had been on the phone, and the panic buttons going off were causing her to feel pain that she wasn't actually feeling. Maybe she had been faking the weak murmurs and utterances under her breath, trying to scare him into caring about her. Maybe she was laughing at him now for being so foolish. Maybe she had never been trapped in the fire at all, and had instead been hiding out behind the burning apartment, laughing at his feeble attempts to have a heart.

Never.

Or maybe…Maybe there were firefighters running out of the building now. Maybe there was one who was injured, flames still licking at his yellow coat, his friend trying to pat them out. He might have felt something for them, a twinge of concern, perhaps, but nothing more. He might have been more concerned about who they had brought out of the flames with them.

Or who they hadn't.

He might have limped towards them, his anger as evident in every step he took as it was in every push on his cane. His jaw might have been set as he came even closer and realized his initial suspicion had been correct; there was no one with them. He might have swallowed hard and looked down at his phone, the one connection he had to her. He might have wondered what had gone wrong.

He might have wondered if she had broken her promise.

The firefighters might have tried to explain what had happened, that the hallway that happened to be the only way into the basement was a wall of flames. That there were no other stairwells. That there was no other way into the basement now. That someone had been burned trying to find a way through to that basement. He might have said that was impossible, might have yelled, screamed, kicked, punched. He might have been restrained by one of the bigger, more senior firefighters, told off with only a warning because the man understood the feelings of loss over a friend. He might have told the guy to stick his apology up his ass and that he knew nothing.

And that she had been more than a friend.

He might have stared at the flames for a long time, twirling his phone between his fingers as he did his cane, wondering what had happened. He might never have known. He might have been left only with guesswork, with questions that would never be answered, theories that would never be proven. They might have been able to enter the building hours later, hours too late. They might have carried her out of the building early in the morning, her small, lifeless form in the arms of the big firefighter who had restrained him earlier.

He might have known from the time she missed his call that the situation was hopeless, but he might not have given up hope so easily. He might not even have believed in hope, but at that moment, he might have hoped that something as unreliable as hope existed. People like her believed in hope; maybe he felt compelled to do the same.

For her, that is. Because she might have needed someone to hope for her.

She might have needed someone to hope that her missing the call was not a sign of her death, that perhaps she really had dropped the phone by mistake, or pressed the red button instead of the green. She might have needed someone to hope that the firefighters could get her out in time, because she might have given up on that a long time ago. She might have needed someone to hope that she would be all right, because she might have been no longer able to hope for anything.

She might have needed many things, many more things than just hope. She might have needed someone to hold her hand and tell her it would be all right when her breath began to come out in rasping gasps. She might have needed someone to remind her to inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale like on those yoga tapes she did every Wednesday. She might have needed someone to breathe for her when it became impossible for her to do it on her own. She might have needed someone to save her when she came within inches of death.

There might have been no one there to save her.

He might have looked at her still form early that morning, when they removed her from the charred rubble. He might have closed his bloodshot eyes, wishing he were seeing things, but knowing that wasn't the case. He might have turned away from her, unable to see the damage that had been done. He might have ignored the hand of the firefighter on his shoulder, brushing it off with a curse, a swear word, and walking further away from the people. He might have approached the building, where the last flames still burned.

He might have extracted his phone from his pocket, his plastic phone that has been his last connection to her. He might have examined it carefully, running his fingers over the smooth exterior. He might have swallowed hard as he looked up at the building. It might still have been burning. Inside, he knew it would always be burning. There would always be flames, red and autumn brown, hungry flames that consumed and extinguished life. Flames that made him angry, flames that he could blame for the rest of his life. Flames that were too powerful, much more powerful than he. Flames that could consume one more part of him now, if he let them.

He might have thrown his phone into the dying flames, might have watched as the heat consumed and melted the plastic as it had doubtless consumed and melted the plastic of another phone earlier that night. He might have been transfixed, might have been mesmerized by the fire dancing on its new prize. He might have stood there for awhile, just watching, just watching as the flames took their next victim.

He didn't know how long he had been standing there, but he eventually became aware of the pain in his leg urging him to leave. He might have noticed that there was no longer anything to watch – that the fire had completely destroyed the phone – though he might not have noticed he had been standing there for nearly an hour, staring at nothing. He might have rubbed his tired eyes, and finally turned away.

And even when he was not looking at the fire, he might have been transfixed by the flames, those dancing flames, those burning fields of red and autumn brown.

-END-

**Author's Notes:**

I am eternally indebted to my faithful beta reader Melissa for all of the work she has done on this piece. Seriously, readers, this story would not be the same without her. Melissa, you've been with me on this right from the very beginning - fleshing it out from a mere thought to a full story - and beta reading every chapter. Thank you for all those late nights on AIM and those PM's, even when you had better things to be doing than reading my work (like sleeping). Iby!

A quick note about this chapter - it was supposed to be vague, but I do hope I've given you enough hints to figure out what happened. If you need another one, look at the chapter title. That's all I'm saying. There will not be a sequel - sorry, but I really don't know what I would write.

Since we've come to the end, I should probably reveal my two inspirations for this piece. The first was the movie, Ladder 49, which some of you did correctly guess. The movie inspired the idea, although this piece is a bit different than the movie; if you've seen it, you know what I mean. The second was a song - Into the Fire by Bruce Springsteen. Beautiful, beautiful song. It was the inspiration for the story title, Fields of Red and Autumn Brown. Listen to it if you get the chance.

To all of you who have stuck around to see this piece to the end, I thank you. Hearing your thoughts has been the best reward for me as an author. Even if you only reviewed one chapter, or all of them, please take a moment to tell me your thoughts now. Even if you're reading this story in like, August 2009. I'd still love to hear your thoughts, even if it's just to say "I like it" (or don't like it, as the case may be...). As many of you know, I reply to all of my signed reviews.

And finally, to those of you who wanted this story to be happy...I'm sorry. Your reviews really did make me reconsider the ending of this piece, but in the end, I had to do what was best for the story. However, do not despair! I am currently working on another chaptered piece that will be much longer than this story - AND it will be a Hameron AND it will be happy. WOW, I know. Big surprise coming from me. I'm really excited about it, even though it's still in the preliminary stages. If you are interested in reading it when it comes out, put me on your author alert list. The story should be coming out within the month.

I think that's all I have to say. Thanks again to all of you and I hope to get another piece up soon!

-holadios


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